


In Every Way a Person Can Be Saved

by ConcernedReader



Series: The Ship Of Dreams [3]
Category: Titanic (1997)
Genre: (They did too), A series of one shots, And with history, Drawing, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Healing, I Will Go Down With This Ship, It may be broken up, Liberties Will Be Taken With Canon, Love, Marriage, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, RMS Titanic, Romance, Serious themes will be dealt with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-25 12:40:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcernedReader/pseuds/ConcernedReader
Summary: Jack and Rose's life after the events ofTitanic-- beginning with a few moments set duringTitanic.My wife,He thinks, looking down at Rose, curled up beside him. It’s a strange thought, and yet it isn’t.The first night, they lay down together at the back corner of the room. Rose lays between his body and the wall, partially shielded from view. There is a blanket beneath them, and one resting underneath their heads, and one shared between the two of them, with Cal’s coat. They are in each other’s arms, and it’s all the warmth they need. There are others in the room, and yet they are alone, and it is quiet. It is more private here than it would have been if they’d shared a room with another passenger.Neither of them sleep.They pretend they do. They rest together, but they don’t sleep. They don’t speak of it. They kiss one another occasionally-- on the forehead, on the hands, on the lips-- but they do not make love. For now, it is enough just to hold one another.My wife,he thinks over and over again, letting the sound of her heart lull him into a stupor, her hands in his hair.My wife, my wife, my wife.
Relationships: Jack Dawson/Rose DeWitt Bukater
Series: The Ship Of Dreams [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2031535
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	1. Boarding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is be the first of that series of one shots I was working on. They will all be posted on this fic, and after each update it will read as being complete (barring this chapter), though that's not necessarily true. That's really just so that people don't get heartbroken over an abandoned fic if I run out of steam or something, and also because each chapter really is more of a one shot than a small part of a whole story. Maybe that will change at some point, but I don't foresee that now. This should go from here until right after WWI. This should be some pretty happy stuff, although I do preface that more serious themes will be dealt with in parts.

As she looks up, the sun peeks below the purple rim of her hat. The sky is crystal blue and cloudless, with just enough wind that it doesn’t feel cold. _Titanic_ looms before them, tall and magnificent, shining in her new coat of paint. _It’s a shame we have to leave on such a beautiful day._

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about,” She says. As a stronger gust of wind brushes past, Rose grasps the edge of her hat to keep it on her head, even though it's already secured with a heavy gold pin. “It doesn’t look any bigger than the _Mauretania_ ,” 

“You can be blasé about _some_ things, Rose, but _not Titanic!”_ Cal exclaims with a shake of his head. He looks half like an excited little boy then-- quite different from the reality she's come to know. _How did I ever get engaged to him?_ “It’s over a hundred feet longer than _Mauretania_ . And far more luxurious. Your daughter is far too difficult to impress, Ruth.” He grouses behind her. Mother laughs, her voice tinkling like a bell. _Oh, if he's so funny, why don't_ **_you_ ** _marry him?_ Rose thinks bitterly. She does her best not to let that thought show on her face. 

“So this is the ship they say is unsinkable,” Mother says, her eyes on the ship that will be returning them to America. Rose doesn’t feel like it will take her to a home of any kind. Philadelphia, and then Pittsburg, but not home. Home was where you could rest, and laugh, and smile easy. _I have never known home._

“It is unsinkable,” Cal insists, “God himself could not sink this ship.”

“Let me help,” Rose says to Trudy as she moves to the other side of the car. Her maid is balancing ten different boxes in her arms while Cal and Lovejoy see to their heavier baggage, nearly comical in appearance. Rose snatches three boxes from the top of the pile to help steady her load just as Mother appears behind her. 

She plucks the boxes from Rose’s arms, saying, “Those can go with the rest of the luggage,” And sets them on the backseat of the car. In the end, what they decide to carry onto the ship with them are only the things that are too delicate to be handled by the porters-- glass trinkets purchased in Italy, the boxes of a few unmentionables that were purchased in Paris. “If only we had more time to pack,” Mother says. “Heavens, Rose, I don’t know why your fiancé insists on planning everything last minute.” _I do,_ She thinks, half hearted. It’s because their wedding is in a month, and they’ve been away in Europe for most of the engagement. He wants time to preen and show her off to all the other stuffy rich men whose opinion he valued, those that couldn’t see them in Europe. Even the thought of it makes her sick. _Mother knows, too._

“Ladies, we’d better hurry,” Cal announces as he comes back into view from around the car. He tucks his gold pocket watch into his waistcoat, the Hockley ‘H’ on its face gleaming at her in the sun. Together they start towards the first class gangplank, Mother and Cal arm in arm, her behind them, and Trudy behind her.

“My coat?” Rose asks Trudy, looking back over her shoulder. _Did I leave it in the hotel?_ She can’t remember. It’s a lovely creation of soft pink wool lined in satin, with black embroidery on the collar and cuffs, and it would be an absolute shame to leave it behind. _Maybe I’ll get lucky,_ She thinks. _Maybe I did leave it, and we won’t have to board. Maybe we’ll have to go back, and miss the ship, and wait for the next crossing._

“I have it, miss,” Trudy says. It must be somewhere in the pile of boxes in her arms. She can’t help but be disappointed. Rose knows that any chance they would go back to the hotel for a simple coat is slim, but maybe if she could just slip away for a moment…

Such thoughts are foolish. Even if she could escape, where would she go? They would find her, and lock her in her rooms until the wedding. Drug her into a stupor for being ‘hysterical’. She’d never be trusted alone again. Rose isn’t willing to risk that. 

Cal ushers her mother onto the gangplank first, and then takes her arm. They walk towards the ship together. _It’s like we’re already married,_ She thinks with a shred of panic. _Soon enough we will be._ A month. That was all. She had a month left before her life was signed away as Cal’s wife, mother to his children.

The steamer gives a low whistle in preparation. It already feels like a part of her has died.

* * *

Olaf and Sven are babbling to one another in Swedish-- Jack isn’t sure what about. For all his time in Europe, he still doesn’t know any Swedish, just enough to start up a game of poker this morning. That was around eight, or nine. It was enough time for them to figure out that the Swedes were set to leave on the _Titanic_ at noon, and for them to lose enough money to him and Fabrizio that they put the tickets into the pot. Just to match the cost of those tickets, they’d put all the money in against it. The cards had been drawn, and now everyone was thinking. 

Jack looks at the cards in his hand. All his cards are black-- two eights, a nine, a five, and an ace. It was Five Card Draw, with Jokers wild. All the money was in, there was no more betting. Just the exchange of cards or checks until someone decides to call.

If they win, he gets to go home. There would be other ships, sure. With a month or two, him and Fabrizio might be able to scrape together enough for passage across the Atlantic, or get a job on a ship going across-- large boats were almost always in need of strong backs. But when would there be another chance like _this?_ To ride on the _Titanic_ , of all things-- the biggest ship ever built and hailed as unsinkable. It was the chance of a lifetime. He’s not willing to let it slip through his fingers. He’ll risk everything just for this one chance.

“Jack, you are a _pazzo_ ,” Fabrizio whispers at him across the table, cards tucked close to his chest. “You bet everything we have.”

Jack pulls his cigarette from his mouth and leans towards Fabrizio, blowing out a white steam of smoke. “When you got nothin’, you’ve got nothin’ to lose.” _And boy, do we have nothing._ After a year in Paris of trying and failing to be noticed as an artist, he was short on money and antsy to pack up and head for the horizon. For so long before Paris, he’d been drifting from place to place, never staying in one spot for more than a few weeks. He hadn’t been home in five years. Even if he didn’t stay there, it would be nice to see it again. 

Fabrizio and Olaf swap cards over the pot-- something they’d decided on to keep the game friendly at the beginning. _Your worst card for my worst card._ His hand wasn't bad, but it could be better. “Sven,” Jack nods, signaling for the trade. He lays a card face down on the table-- the five. Sven does the same. They switch cards. It’s the ace of clubs-- the black clover stares up at him. _Leaves me with two pair_ . That was a good hand. But not a great hand. He could do better. _If I want those tickets, I need a better hand._ There was a chance he could still swing something really spectacular-- after all, the nine is still useless to him.

_If I win, I can go home,_ Jack tells himself over and over again. _I can go home._ He puts the nine of hearts down by the deck with the other used cards and takes another. He holds his face still.

_A Joker._ The wild card of the game. It was good for his full house. _The dead man’s hand,_ that’s what his dad called this one. Aces over eights, and an unknown fifth card-- supposedly the hand Wild Bill Hickok was holding when he was murdered. Bad luck maybe-- but that was a hand he was willing to risk those tickets on, along with more than twenty dollars.

It’s almost noon. There’s no more money to bet, and they’re running out of time. Jack puts his cigarette out in the ashtray with a heavy breath, trying not to let his nerves get the best of him. “Alright.” He says, steeling himself. “Moment of truth. Somebody’s life is about to change. Fabrizio?”

Fabri lays his cards down. A four, a five, a Jack, and a seven. And none of them in the same suit. “ _Niente_ ,” Jack says.

“ _Niente_ ,” Fabri agrees, looking none too happy. If they lose, Jack knows he’ll get an earful later, most of it in Italian and a few choice words in broken English. It still surprised Jack sometimes, because of his sweet disposition, but Fabri had a mouth on him when he was angry, especially if you knew Italian.

“Olaf?”

Olaf shows his hand-- it looks no better than Fabrizio’s. “Nothing. Sven?”

Sven sets his cards on the table with a smirk. Two red threes, and two black fives. _Holy shit, I won. I won. Holy shit--_ “Uh oh,” He feigns, “Two pair. I’m sorry, Fabrizio,” Jack shakes his head. 

“ _Che_ sorry? _Ma va fa’n culo!_ You bet _all our money!”_

_“I’m sorry!”_ Jack insists. “You’re not going to see your Mom again for a _long time,”_ He says, trying to clue him in, but it only makes Fabri confused. “‘Cause we’re going to America! Full house, boys! Woo hoo!”

_“Dios Mio,_ **_grazi!”_ ** Fabrizio exclaims, the tickets in his hands and dancing with joy. Jack reaches into the middle of the table to grab the money, sweeping it towards the edge. Before he can get it into his bag, Olaf pulls him forward by the collar, one fist clenched and the other drawn back. He growls something in Swedish, face drawn into a black scowl. Jack squeezes his left eye shut, bracing for the hit. He’s been roughed up after gambling before, but even a black eye couldn’t sour his mood after what they’ve won.

Right as Jack thinks Olaf is about to clobber him. Olaf swings his fist right into Sven’s face. Sven goes toppling back in his chair right to the floor. Jack bursts into laughter. “Come on!” He exclaims-- they need to get down to the ship, they need, they-- _Fuck, I’m going home,_ Jack can hardly breathe even though he can’t stop smiling. **_I’m really going home._ ** _I--_ **_shit_ ** _._

_“Figlio di putanna!”_ Fabri laughs, holding the tickets aloft with a wild grin. _Son of a bitch,_ it means. Jack takes the tickets from Fabrizio’s hands and kisses them. He left America three years ago, and now he finally gets to go back, and in _style_ no less.

“I’m going home!” He cries, as Fabrizio hugs him. “I’m going home,” Jack says again when he lets Fabri go. He still can’t believe it. 

“I go to America!” Fabrizio exclaims, more excited than Jack has ever seen him.

“No, mate,” The barkeep laughs, a wry smirk on his face as he cleans a glass with a towel. “ _Titanic_ goes to America. In _five minutes_ ,”

“Shit,” he gasps. He hadn’t realized the time-- how late it was. “Come on, Fabri. Here, come on. Here!” They slide the money into one of their bags, and spring from the bar.

* * *

“We’re ridin’ in high style now,” Jack yells back at Fabrizio as they run through the square. All their belongings are slung over their shoulders, their clothes, his drawing supplies, the money. And the tickets are in his hands. “We’re a couple of regular swells! Practically goddamn royalty, _ragazzo mio!”_

“You see? It’s my _destino_ , like I told you!” Fabri cries. “I go to America to be a _milionario!”_

“Woah, woah!” He says, nearly running into a horse drawn carriage. The horses bray and take clumsy steps, frightened, and him and Fabrizio stumble around them, trying to keep their balance. 

_“Bastardo!”_ Fabrizio swears, falling farther behind as they near the last gangplank. As the ship gets ready to leave, the entire dock is in chaos, alive with excitement. It looks as though the entirety of Southampton has come here just to see the ship off. “You are a _pazzo!”_ Fabri yells behind him. _Crazy._ Well, it wasn’t the worst thing he’s been called, and if crazy got him home, it couldn’t be bad.

“Maybe, but I’ve got the tickets,” Jack says. Shit, he still doesn’t believe he actually won. And on a full house, no less. He glances back over his shoulder as they near the gangplank. “Come on, I thought you were fast!” 

_“Aspetta!”_ Fabri answers. Dozens of people fly by his vision, cars and carriages and cargo, but all Jack can see is the last spot to board, just ahead of them.

“Woah, woah!” Jack stumbles to slow down, nearly running into some men about to move the last gangplank, letting ropes go, as the door on the side of the ship is about to close. “Wait, wait, wait wait _wait!_ Wait!” He hops up onto the gangplank, rushing up to the ship, and the officer at the door. “Hey, wait! _We’re passengers!_ We’re passengers!” A three foot gap of open air between the ship and the dock is between them. Below it is nothing but water. He holds out the tickets to the officer. 

The officer looks at their tickets for little more than a second. “Have you been through the inspection queue?” He asks.

“Of course,” Jack lies, without even thinking. They slept under bridges and on the streets, maybe, but they did their best to keep clean. Besides, bridges just meant more access to water. “Anyway, we don’t have any lice, we’re Americans.” Jack doesn’t glance at Fabrizio, who most certainly was not an American. But the officer didn’t have to know that. “Both of us.”

The lie is good enough to convince the officer. Either that or he just doesn’t care enough to stop them. “Right. Come aboard!” He decides, holding out a hand to help them across, but they don’t need it. 

Jack leaps across the gap without even looking down. Fabri lands behind him a second later. _We made it,_ Jack thinks in relief. _We’re on_ **_Titanic._ ** _I’m going home._ But he doesn’t even stop to breathe. They race through the halls, trying to find the nearest stairwell to get up to the deck. It was once in a lifetime that a person gets a sendoff like this, and Jack knows he just has to see it. _“We’re the luckiest sons of bitches in the world, you know that?!”_

* * *

“Goodbye!” Jack crows to the farewell crowd below on the docks, cheering and waving as _Titanic_ pulls away on her maiden voyage. He climbs up a rung to get a better view-- even in third class, the railing is packed full with passengers, many of them like Fabri, waving goodbye to their old life in Europe and going west for a fresh start. 

“You know somebody?” Fabri asks at his side, leaning over the railing cheerfully. 

“Of course not, that’s not the point,” Jack answers. Big ships and voyages were all about the excitement and adventure-- the idea that you could go somewhere for a new life and you’d never come back to the way things were. Especially on the first voyage. Especially on the Ship of Dreams. “Goodbye, I’ll miss you!” He’ll miss the slums and the bars and the brothels, his little apartment in Paris and the friends he made along the way. He’ll miss the canals of Venice and the warm ocean in Sicily, and Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. 

But he misses home more-- the sunsets in Santa Monica, and the wild bursting life of New York, and his mother’s wildflowers at home. It’s time he went back. Time to put old ghosts to rest. 

“Goodbye! I’ll never forget you!”

“Goodbye! _Goodbye!”_

* * *

“G-sixty. G-sixty, G-sixty,” Jack rounds the corner, shouldering past a young woman in a black hat. “Excuse me… G-sixty…” He checks the sign on the wall, and the next room number, G-61. Which means… Jack looks across to his left, on the other side of the hall, to have G-60 staring back at him. “Oh, right here.” He realizes. Jack turns the handle and steps inside.

Inside are two men, their things set up on the left side of the room. “Hey, how you doin’?” He asks, introducing himself. “Jack. Nice to meet you.” Jack turns to the other man, who looks vaguely like Sven. Which makes sense in a way-- if they were family, they had likely purchased the tickets together, which would explain why they’re sharing a room. “Jack Dawson, nice to meet you,” He says, shaking his hand. 

When Jack turns, he finds Fabrizio already lying on the top bunk, his bag beside him and a thousand watt grin on his face. Jack roughs him a little, teasing, “Who says you get top bunk, huh?”

* * *

"This one?" Trudy asks as she lifts yet another painting from the wooden crates delivered to their parlor sweet. 

Rose frowns at the painting-- an abstract one of some fruit. "No, It had a lot of faces on it." _They were supposed to be women,_ Rose thinks, _But they were all sort of oblong in figure._ She pulls another out of the crate and finds five faces staring back at her, belonging to five nude women. "This is the one."

"Would you like all of them out, miss?" Her maid asks, voice soft spoken and lilting. 

"Yes." She decides. "We need a little color in this room." It was so drab, and stuffy, and gilded, with the wood paneled walls. Where was the sunlight meant to come in? The air? The cheerful colors of the paintings would do her good. Rose sets the Picasso down against its wooden crate, still packed with a half dozen other paintings. 

"God, not those finger paintings again,” Cal’s voice says from across the room. Rose doesn’t bother looking back at him-- that she can’t yet feel him hovering behind her like some great big pest is comfort enough. “They certainly were a waste of money."

"The difference between Cal's taste in art and mine is that I have some,” Rose says. She remembers how he had protested at the purchases, trying to steer her towards less modern purchases, but Rose insisted. These were by far the most interesting of any other paintings they’d encountered in their travels. Perhaps it would give her some happiness to see them hanging there on the wall once they married. Maybe the color would remind her of who she once was before she became Caledon Hockley’s wife. “They're fascinating. Like being inside a dream or something. There's truth, but no logic." None of her dreams ever seemed to make sense anymore. Maybe that was the point.

“What's the artist's name?"

“Something Picasso," Rose thinks. _Is he a Spaniard? I’m not sure. Didn’t we get the painting in Paris?_

“‘Something Picasso?!’” Cal scoffs as he crosses the room, a green bottle of champagne in hand. “He won't amount to a thing. He won't, trust me."

Rose doesn’t care. She likes the painting anyway. In fact, she thinks she would finance the artist if she could, just to prove Cal wrong. "Let's put the Degas in the bedroom," She tells Trudy, and walks into her bedroom with the painting of the Ballerina in hand.

"At least they were cheap." She hears her fiancé mutter as they go.

"Let's see…" Rose thinks, once they’re in her room. The furniture is all lovely, and the electric lights are remarkably good. The bed has a dark wooden frame and is made with fine white sheets and blankets. An oak wardrobe stands on the opposite wall, where her dresses can be kept, and a matching vanity on the far side of the room from the door. They’re fine quarters, as fine as any she’s stayed in on their travels. It’s just a place to sleep, though. She’ll only be here a week, and then it’s back in Philadelphia for the first time in six months. Their stately mansion there hasn’t felt like home since Father died-- anything that she truly would have missed, Rose took with her when they left. And even Philadelphia was temporary. They were only staying there until the wedding, when they would go back to Cal’s estate in Pittsburg. She sets the Degas down beside the silver mirror.

"Oh, it smells so brand new," Trudy sighs, her smile near wistful. She rushes to Rose’s side when she holds out her wrists, and undoes the amethyst cufflinks of her walking suit. "Like they built it all just for us,” Trudy blushes in her excitement, as if thinking something particularly scandalous. “I mean, just to think that tonight, when I crawl between the sheets, I'll be the _first,"_

"Oh, Trudy," she laughs. _I suppose that would be rather exciting for a maid,_ Rose smiles. They’d first hired Trudy when they got to England six months ago, and Rose likes having her around, if she’s honest. It’s nice for there to be another girl her age so close, who she can talk to and share secrets with. She never had any sisters, but Rose likes to think of her as one, sometimes.

"Tonight when _I_ crawl between the sheets, I'll still be the first." Rose feels her own blood run cold at the voice. Her fiancé appears in the doorway with a crystal flute of champagne in his hand. He nods behind him, looking at Trudy. _He wants to be alone with me,_ Rose nearly panics, nearly comes up with a reason to go with Trudy. 

Trudy averts her eyes. "Excuse me, miss." She says. Trudy dips into a short curtsey and hurries past Cal, who closes the door behind her. They're alone.

Her fiancé walks up behind her and snakes his arms around her waist. "The first and only," he mutters in her ear. Rose can smell the champagne on his breath, and does her best not to squirm. Does her best not to scream. "Forever," His nose presses behind her ear, lips trailing over her neck. Rose demurs, pulls back and kisses him on the cheek. It’s not until after he leaves that she realizes how long she was holding her breath for.

Cal has already been trying to force his way into her bed for months, sneaking into her rooms when she wasn’t there, having lingerie made for her, thinly veiled propositions. Rose loathes the way his eyes crawl over his skin when he lets his gaze linger for long enough. For months, she has denied him, content to play the part of the blushing virgin bride. For months he has accepted that answer, content to believe that it has everything to do with modesty and nothing to do with him. In reality, it’s the opposite, but Rose has never given him reason to let on to that. But as the wedding nears, she’s beginning to fear what he will do, if he’s left alone with her for long enough.

She’s beginning to fear what _she_ will do, if left alone for long enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are the notes. Sorry, I know there was no Jack and Rose meeting in this chapter (that's coming next)
> 
> I refer to the hand Jack wins the tickets with as the 'dead man's hand'. This is a real thing. It isn't just made up. My father is a fan of Westerns, and I've picked up that trivia bit over the years. Wild Bill Hickok, a lawman in the era of the Wild West (who was also involved in several gunfights) was shot while playing poker, and he was holding two black aces, two black eights, and one unknown card. This hand has henceforth been known as the Dead Man's hand. Seeing as Jack's parents would have grown up during the Old west, it seemed like something his father was liable to know. Based on the cards you do momentarily see Jack holding in the film (a black five and at least one eight, but I'm not certain) before he changes cards, I thought this hand would be particularly fitting as an ill omen, considering the fate he has in the film, even though we're never told what hand he really has. I also don't remember a lot of Poker's rules, so forgive any inaccuracies on my part.
> 
> Another thing I don't know? Italian. I did my best on google translate based on what it sounded like Fabrizio was saying (phonetically) and what I thought that meant in the context. There's most of the smaller words you should be able to figure out, but 'Ma va fa'n culo' means essentially 'Go fuck yourself', and 'Figlio di Putanna' does mean 'son of a bitch'. 'Aspetta' means 'wait up' to the best of my knowledge, which is not much. If anyone is more familiar with Italian than I am, feel free to correct me.


	2. Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jump scene-- with dual perspectives, because I'm feeling generous.

**Rose**

The key to her room slips out of her hand and onto the table. “Trudy,” She gasps, slipping off a silk glove. “Trudy?” Another glove. Heavens, her feet ache. “Trudy?” Her dress is suffocating all of a sudden, she reaches for the clasps at the back, but can’t find them, can’t manage to unhook them from below, nor reach them from above. Rose nearly screams, tearing at the sleeves, but it still won’t come, and then yanking her necklace off, and the pins and tortoiseshell combs from her hair. Her hair won’t come free, though, so many more pins in it than she had counted going in, and it looks like a long, tangled rat’s nest. “Trudy,” She sobs for how helpless she is, some creature unable to even undress herself. 

Rose screams, flinging her jewelry box across the room, the pearl necklaces, jewels, music boxes, brushes, mirrors and bits of maquillage. She finally stops to breathe and catches sight of herself in the mirror.  _ Who is that? It’s not me, it’s not me, it’s  _ **_not._ ** _ How can that be me, when I don’t even recognize my own reflection?  _ It’s not her. Surely it’s not. It’s some wild, mad girl. An angry, sobbing mess, hair astray and streaks of mascara running down her face.  _ I may as well have died already, _ Rose thinks, a thought that has circled through her brain many times over the last few weeks, but she can’t calm it now, can’t stop the thoughts that come after it, thoughts she is too afraid to think.  _ How could this have happened to me? _

These are the thoughts she has come to think when she is left alone for long enough-- at night, in her bed. When there is no one there to stop them from coming. It frightens her, what her own mind can come up with, and how it doesn’t seem to be able to stop. Normally, her waking hours go undisturbed by these thoughts, but of late they have followed her into daylight and company, too.

All of a sudden the room isn’t big enough; it can’t contain the enormity of what she’s feeling right now. And she can’t breathe, she can’t breathe, she  _ can’t breathe _ \-- Rose bursts from her room moments later, stumbling through the halls and the lobby to the first class promenade without a thought for where she’s going or what she’ll do when she gets there other than that she can’t stand in that room a moment longer.

She's running and crying at the same time, tears on her face and sobs she can't control bursting up her throat. Rose is hardly even certain what made her start-- it was as if one second she was alright, and now she can’t stop crying, can’t stop  _ running _ , still  _ can’t  _ **_breathe._ **

_ It's wrong,  _ Rose thinks, the wind chilling the tears on her face.  _ What they're doing to me is wrong. People aren't meant to do this to other people. People aren't meant to not do anything when you need help. How can they not see it? How can none of them hear me? _

It's all Rose can think about-- running, getting away from them, as far and as fast as she can, and she doesn't let anything stop her-- not the people she runs into on her way, not the gates between class decks, not the stairs. Not until Rose collides body first into a metal structure at the stern of the ship, and she sees the railing, and the swirling black sea on the other side. It feels like fate.

She stops there, holding the structure for support and breathing hard. The edge has a pull on her that she can't explain, drawing her in, closer to it. It seems to make so much sense all of a sudden, it’s so perfect. Rose looks back over her shoulder-- as much in the hope that someone will be there to stop her as in fear of it-- and finds no one. She’s alone in the world.  _ Not even a shadow.  _ She walks over to the edge.

Rose hadn't really known what she was looking for until now, till it was right in front of her.  _ I'm looking for a way out, and, well, this will do it. _ Her hands clasp the cool metal of the bar.  _ Yes,  _ She thinks.  _ This makes sense. This is right.  _ She swallows, heart racing.  _ Of course I would end up here after all this time. Of course I would. _

Rose carefully steps up onto the railing, using a pole and some rope to bring herself up and over to the other side. The sea is before her when she turns, stretched horizon to horizon, as black as the sky above and twice as unforgiving. She leans forward, clinging to the bar with her bare hands. One slip now will cost her her life-- but that’s what she wants, isn't it? The thought of letting go is terrifying.  _ Is it more terrifying than what's in the other direction? _ Rose wonders absently. _ In death, I might finally be free. _

She's never been more afraid-- afraid to stay, and afraid to leave. Afraid that she won't be able to choose and her time will run out in one way or another.

"Don't do it," A voice says. Her head whips around to see who’s come up behind her. It’s a man, Rose sees, fair featured and young as she was, cautiously approaching. He’s wearing plain, worn clothes-- someone from third class, without a doubt. He’s not reaching for her, trying to keep her calm, but Rose doesn’t want his help, or anyone’s, for that matter.  _ No one can help me,  _ She despairs.  _ The only help is in the water. _

"Stay back," Rose warns him. She doesn't want anyone to stop her-- she wants this to end. _I should’ve let go when I had the chance, before anyone came by to stop me._ Her mother’s face flashed in her mind, and Cal’s. Rose thinks of the heavy wedding dress meant for her that she’d had no say in picking out, and the weighted diamond ring that didn’t feel right on her finger. She thinks of lavender bridesmaid dresses chosen out of spite, and a ceremony that felt more like Mother’s than hers. _If I don’t jump, I have to go back and face it all._ Rose knows she can’t do that. She’s not strong enough. "Don't come any closer!"

The strange man moves forward one step at a time, with his hand held out for her. "Come on, just give me your hand. I'll pull you back over," He speaks gently, approaching with a great deal of caution so she’s not frightened off. His hand is almost tempting enough to take, but Rose won’t let herself. Maybe she doesn’t want to die, but she doesn't want to live, either. Not like this.

"No!" Rose cries. "Stay where you are! I mean it! I'll let go,"

_ I mean it,  _ Rose tells herself.  _ I do, I do.  _

The man takes a smoke from his cigarette, and pulls it from his mouth. As he leans forward to throw it away over the railing, he keeps his eyes on Rose so she knows he’s not reaching for her. His eyes study her face, careful, and he tells her in a confident voice, "No you won't." The man watches her like she’s bluffing in a card game, and he's just called it. He wants to see what she was going to do. 

Well, this isn’t the time for him to be making assumptions about her, if he’s hoping to talk her off of the railing. Rose has done a good deal of stupid things in her life just to prove a point, and with her hanging off the back of a ship, it’s a very poor time to test her resolve. His words have only served to make her angry. "What do you mean, 'No I won't?'" Rose demands.  _ How dare he assume something like that when we’ve only just met? _ He doesn’t know anything about her life, or what got her to climb over the railing. "Don't presume to tell me what I will or will not do. You don't know me,"

"Well, you would have done it already," He shrugs, almost nonchalant in his dismissal. Perhaps that’s true. Rose takes the time to look at him closer. The man is young, though not as young as her, maybe a year or two between them. His hair is long for a man’s, long enough that it might flop over his eyes, and a dusky dusky gold shade of blond. He’s tall and wiry thin, probably from not enough food if he really was from third class. He has a fine featured and handsome face, with eyes of a watery pale blue, not at all like the waves below her.

_ I’m being ridiculous. I shouldn’t be studying this man, he’s trying to stop me. I don’t have time to talk to him.  _ Rose huffs, and turns back to the water. "You're distracting me, go away!"

"I can't," He says with a shake of his head. He’s being so unbearably calm and rational about this that it almost makes her want to climb back over the railing just to slap him.  _ Why doesn’t he see that I don’t want to be saved?  _ "I'm involved now. If you let go, then I'm gonna have to jump in there after you," The man explains, resolute and already taking off his heavy coat. He lays it on the deck at his feet.

"Don't be absurd," Rose protests.  _ It’s one thing to go over myself, but I won’t be responsible for someone else’s life,  _ She thinks. "You'll be killed."

"I'm a good swimmer," He answers plainly, bending over and unlacing one of his shoes.

"The fall alone would kill you,"

"It would hurt," The man considers, almost shrugging as he straightens. "I'm not saying it wouldn't. To tell you the truth, I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold," He says, pulling off a shoe with a quirk of his brow.

Rose hesitates just then, looking down at the black waves. "How cold?" She wonders, looking back at him. She’s never really cared for the cold, and hadn’t considered the water temperature. She’d only planned on drowning-- not that she might freeze first.

The man pauses as he thinks it over, with his head tipped to the side. "Freezing," He finally answers, still pulling at the laces on his other shoe. "Maybe a couple degrees over."  _ That's very cold,  _ Rose muses, looking down at the water briefly. She seriously considers giving up this venture of hers for a moment. Being all alone in dark, freezing water… it certainly didn’t sound like a good way to die. "You ever been to Wisconsin?"

It takes Rose a moment to register what he's just said, because it makes no sense at the moment. "What?"  _ Why is he asking about  _ **_Wisconsin?_ **

"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around," He explains. "I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls. I remember when I was a kid, me and my Father, we went ice fishing out on Lake Wissota. Ice fishing is, you know, where you-- "

"I know what Ice fishing is," Rose snaps. She doesn’t particularly care for such small talk at the moment-- she’s hanging off the back of a ship, she doesn’t need an explanation on the finer points of ice fishing.

"Sorry," The man apologizes, brows raised. "You just seem like, you know, kind of an indoor girl. Anyway, I fell through some thin ice. I'm telling you," The man leans on the railing next to her, eyeing the water. "Water that cold-- like right down them-- it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body. You can't breathe. You can't think. At least not about anything but the pain," He shakes his head, blond locks fluttering a bit in the breeze.

"Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you," The man says in what sounds like a sigh. He pauses for a moment, "But like I said," He takes off another jacket, with another shake of his head. "I don't have a choice." The man looks at her with a cautious gaze, his eyes bright and intent as they stare at her. "I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the tailing and get me off the hook, here,"

"You're crazy!" She cries.  _ He wants _ **_me_ ** _ to  _ **_not_ ** _ jump in, so  _ **_he_ ** _ doesn’t have to jump in cold water  _ **_after me?_ ** _ That’s insane! _

"That's what everyone says, but," The stranger leans closer, his face near to hers and his voice quiet. "With all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship, here. Come on, now give me your hand," He insists, offering his own up for her to take. "You don't want to do this."

_ Maybe he’s right,  _ She considers,  _ Maybe I don’t want to do this.  _ It isn’t really that she wants to die anyway-- just to be free.  _ Maybe there’s another way.  _ His hand is right there for her to take, offering a second chance. Rose takes it-- his hand is warm against hers, rough with calluses but strong. She carefully turns to face him. "I'm Jack Dawson," He says quietly, a soft smile on his face. It’s a good name, Rose decides. It suits him.

"Rose DeWitt Bukater," She answers. The wind is cold on her face, drying the tears that she’d cried, though remnants of her ruined makeup remain. Somehow, it feels like they’re a bit past introductions at this point.

The man-- Jack-- cracks a grin, and says, "I'll have to get you to write that one down," It makes her laugh-- she hasn't laughed in so long. His smile is brilliant, she realizes, making her feel light even after how upset she’d been not moments ago. "Come on," Jack hands are on her as he tries to help her back over. Rose feels so safe for a moment that she doesn’t notice when she steps on part of her dress, and slips from the railing.

She shrieks at the sudden absence of support under her feet, so afraid to die when not so long ago that had been exactly what she wanted. Jack has caught her, though, standing above her and holding tight to her hand. "I've got you," He shouts down to her, already trying to pull her back up. Her wrist aches from his grip, but Rose won’t dare tell him to loosen it. "Come on! Come on," Jack urges her.

Rose has almost regained her footing, but the dress does her in again, and for the second time, she falls. Even with Jack still holding onto her, she can’t help but scream.  _ I don't want to die, I don't want to die, _ "Help!! Please,  _ help!!"  _ She cries, looking up at Jack. "Please, help me!!"

"Listen to me, listen to me!" Jack demands, trying to get Rose silent enough to be able to do what he told her. "I've got you, I won't let go," He promises her. His hand is tight around hers, strong. "Now pull yourself up, come on!"

Rose strains to pull herself up like he said, with every muscle in her body. Jack’s hands keep her anchored to life. With his help, she claws her way up the railing, bit by bit. "Come on! Try," Jack insists. "You can do it,” He encourages her even as her arms weaken. It keeps her going-- Rose is too close to safety to ease up now. Finally, she manages to get high enough to reach for him, with a bit more under her feet than just air.

"I've got you," Jack breathes, his arms holding tight around her and pulling her to the other side rather than waiting for her to attempt to climb again. They land in a heap together on the deck below them. Rose can hardly believe through her relief-- she hasn’t died today. She looks up at him, just as breathless as her and trying to untangle himself from her. She’d just met him, this young man from third class, of all places. It makes no sense, and perhaps it should frighten her, but he’s just made Rose feel something she hadn’t felt with anyone else in a long while. Something she can’t explain.

He’s made her feel safe, and that on its own is a miracle.

* * *

**Jack**

It’s a cold, clear night outside. The wood of the bench he’s on is cold, and it’s hard surface is beginning to ache at his back from not moving. It’s after nine by now, and Jack knows he should be heading in, but the cold doesn’t bother him.  _ There’s nothing like stars over the ocean, _ His father used to say, though Jack can’t recall for the life of him when Dad ever would’ve been at sea.

He takes a drag of his cigarette, watching a shooting star go past.  _ Dad was right, _ Jack thinks, the thought numb and almost impersonal in a way. It’s been five years since the fire, since he left home. Not once has he been back. Without them there, he had no reason to stay, couldn’t bear to be there without them, really. So he ran from his problems like the boy he was and never even looked back. Not at the home he grew up in, not at the friends he left behind, and not at the rest of the family that must have stopped looking for him by now. Not even a passing glance.

Footsteps go rushing past him, carrying the sound of sobs with them, and the rustling of silk skirts. Jack sits up just in time to see the woman retreating from view, her dress sparkling with glass, colored like ruby, like jet. Her hair streams untamed behind her, positively wild.

Somehow, he can’t help but follow her. Can’t resist the pull she has on him, like a magnet. Maybe he shouldn’t-- a person’s sorrows were a very private thing. That thought doesn’t stop him.

From a distance, he sees her run into a metal part of the ship jutting up from the deck, stopping herself. Her back is still turned to him, but Jack can see how she gasps for breath, how she’s trembling down to her toes. Jack doesn’t reveal himself, moving closer as quietly as he can. After the woman catches her breath, she looks up, at the stern of the ship, and walks over to the railing, putting her hands on it. And then after another moment, she climbs over. She turns to face him, but doesn’t see him, doesn’t really appear to be seeing anything.  _ That’s the woman at the railing, _ Jack realizes.  _ From earlier today, in the lace dress. _ Yes. In a different dress, and with her hair down and a great deal more distressed, but her all the same. Even now, a part of him can’t help but have his breath taken by her beauty.

It strikes Jack that he knows what she’s feeling, at least in part. By the fear on her face, more frightened of whatever she was running from than what was on the far side of the railing. By the way she ran, like she just couldn’t stop, like the boat wasn’t big enough, couldn’t put enough space between her and whatever she was running from. Fear of an empty house in Chippewa Falls once carried him all the way to France.  _ But it never made me want to die.  _ The woman turns around, unsteady. Her auburn hair flutters in the wind as she leans forward…

“Don’t do it,” He says. He can’t help himself.

The woman turns faster than he can blink, terrified. He realizes just how young she is, then-- she can’t be any older than he is, probably younger.  _ She’s shaking,  _ Jack thinks again,  _ But who wouldn’t be? _ “Stay back,” She says, adjusting her grip on the railing. The dark beads on the edge of her dress tinkle as she moves. “Don’t come any closer!”

He doesn’t rush at her, but instead moves closer step by step, offering out a hand. Jack knows what grief did to him five years ago, but this feels like a different animal. Not grief. Something else. "Come on, just give me your hand. I'll pull you back over," He offers, still moving towards her with slow, even steps so she doesn’t get more frightened than she already is.

“No!” She insists, tears in her eyes. "Stay where you are! I mean it! I'll let go,"

Jack doesn’t believe her. He doesn’t think she really wants to die at all.

He inhales a breath from his still lit cigarette, and plucks it from his lips. Jack nods at her once, leaning forward, and tosses it over the railing. “No you won’t,” He dares to say, jaw clenched tight and hands resting in his pockets. He can feel his own heart racing.  _ If I can’t get her off the railing… _ He doesn’t want to think about it. Jack is sure that her face would follow him for days.

It’s very obvious, all of a sudden, that Jack has said exactly the wrong thing. "What do you mean, 'No I won't?'" The woman exclaims, absolutely furious. Maybe that’s good, though-- if she’s angry at him, she can’t concentrate on jumping. "Don't presume to tell me what I will or will not do. You don't know me,"

Jack shrugs, "Well, you would have done it already," People who were sure about wanting to kill themselves didn’t hesitate, or take time to think things over when they were right on the edge. She had plenty of time before he got there. She could have just climbed up to the top of the Railing and jumped off, but she didn’t. She took her time, climbing over to the other side, still trying to make up her mind even as she was leaning forward. 

"You're distracting me, go away!" She demands, turning back to the water below.

Jack shakes his head. “I can’t,” He says.  _ What kind of person just walks away to let another die? _ "I'm involved now. If you let go, then I'm gonna have to jump in there after you,"

He’s not sure when he decided that, but he means it. He’ll do it, if he has to. He’ll say whatever it takes to get her over the railing again. Jack takes off his heavy brown coat and sets it on the deck by their feet, then his jacket and vest.

“Don’t be absurd,” The woman says. “You’ll be killed,”

“I’m a good swimmer,” He says, unlacing his boots and stepping out of them.  _ But I’m betting you’ll change your mind before I have to prove it. _

“The fall alone would kill you,” She insists.

"It would hurt. I'm not saying it wouldn't.” Jack agrees. It was a long fall-- twenty or thirty feet, maybe even forty. “To tell you the truth, I'm a lot more concerned about that water being so cold," The memory is hazy-- it’s been… what? Fourteen years? He was so small when he fell through that ice. He remembers being out on the ice with his father, and then the next moment he was in the water, unable to even think through the pain, and how he couldn’t get warm for days after, even though he had a fever. The cold hadn’t killed him, but the pneumonia nearly had.

_ That _ , thank god, seems to give the woman pause. “How cold?” She ventures, eyeing the swirling blackness below with a new degree of caution. 

Jack thinks about it for a moment. If it was a cold year, the lakes in Wisconsin might not thaw out until the end of March. It was mid April now, and the ocean never froze, but they were farther north than Wisconsin. “Freezing. Maybe a couple of degrees over.” He says. “You ever been to Wisconsin?"

“What?”

"Well, they have some of the coldest winters around. I grew up there, near Chippewa Falls,” Jack explains, thinking that maybe the story will help. “I remember when I was a kid, me and my Father, we went ice fishing out on Lake Wissota. Ice fishing is, you know, where you-- "

"I know what ice fishing is," She spits.

“Sorry,” Jack retracts.  _ I didn’t mean to step on any toes.  _ He’s beginning to get a sense of this woman-- she doesn’t like people making assumptions about her. "You just seem like, you know, kind of an indoor girl.” He’d never have guessed that she’d have heard of ice fishing before, being a first class lady. “Anyway, I fell through some thin ice. I'm telling you," Jack leans with his forearms against the cold railing. "Water that cold-- like right down them-- it hits you like a thousand knives stabbing all over your body. You can't breathe. You can't think. At least not about anything but the pain,

"Which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in there after you," Jack sighs. "But like I said," He shakes his head, taking off his wool vest. "I don't have a choice. I guess I'm kind of hoping you'll come back over the railing and get me off the hook, here," He says, looking at her.

“You’re crazy!”

He’s been called that before, many times, a  _ pazzo _ by Fabrizio just yesterday. Never once has it bothered him. Jack leans in to her, letting his voice go quiet. "That's what everyone says, but, with all due respect, miss, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship, here.” He says. Jack lifts his hand again, offering it to her.  _ Come on, take my hand. _ “Come on, now give me your hand. You don't want to do this." The woman hesitates for a dragging moment, thinking.

She takes it.

“I’m Jack Dawson,” He says, smiling out of relief as she turns around. The woman’s hands are soft, like a child’s are before they grow calloused from work. It’s clear that she’s never had to.

“Rose DeWitt Bukater,” She answers, her face streaked in tears.  _ Rose, _ he thinks. It suits her perfectly, with her red hair and her dress. 

“I’ll have to get you to write that one down,” He laughs, grinning. When she laughs, and finally cracks a smile, his heart stutters just because of how  _ beautiful  _ she is.  _ Rose DeWitt Bukater, _ He thinks again.  _ I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. _ “Come on,”

He holds tighter to her hand, keeping her steady as she moves to get back over the railing-- he can hear the beads on her dress moving again. Before he even realizes what’s happened, Rose slips on her gown and is dragging him downward, bent over the railing with her clinging to one of his hands. He quickly takes the other, holding her as best he can, but Jack knows he won’t be able to get her back up on his own. She’ll have to help him. Letting her go doesn’t even cross his mind. "I've got you," He cries, trying to pull her up a little, so that she can find some purchase with her feet. "Come on! Come on," Just when it seems like she’s about to get back up, she slips again, shrieking as she falls. 

"Help!! Please,  _ help!!"  _ She screams, eyes wide and blue and terrified. "Please, help me!!"

"Listen to me, listen to me! I've got you, I won't let go," Jack says, not sure if it’s for himself or her.  _ I won’t let her go. I won’t let her fall. _ "Now pull yourself up, come on!"

They move as a team, Rose pushing herself upward and Jack pulling her in the same direction, holding her steady. "Come on! Try! You can do it,” He says. He believes in her-- believes she’s strong enough to save herself. 

One of her hands hooks over the railing, and Jack finally manages to get his arms around her torso, relatively safe. "I've got you," He says, but isn’t willing to relax and risk her slipping again. He doesn’t even stop moving, just heaves her up and over the railing, pulling both Rose and himself away from the edge. The inertia sends them tumbling to the deck in a heap, her body underneath his. Breathless, he tries to untangle himself from her, catching a hint of perfume that almost seems familiar for a moment, and then--

“What’s all this?” A man’s voice asks, following the footsteps he’d just heard only moments ago. Jack sits back on his knees to see three deckhands staring at them, looking back and forth between him and Rose. Rose, who’s gasping and still lying on the deck, with her dress pulled up past one knee to reveal pale skin and a dark stocking, still frightened. And they’d just seen him lying on top of her. It dawns on Jack what they think happened almost right as the idea takes shape in their heads, and there’s nothing he can say that will convince them. “You  _ stand back! _ And don’t move an inch!” The first one bellows. Jack does as he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He didn’t want to get into more trouble. “Fetch the Master at Arms!”

* * *

“This is completely unacceptable!” The dark haired man says, railing at nothing in particular-- at the crewmen and Jack, anyone who would listen. “What made you  _ think _ that you could put your hands on  _ my _ fiancée?!” He demands, stepping up so his face is only inches away.

Jack feels his gaze flit to Rose unconsciously, who’s wrapped in a plaid blanket and shivering as she’s being cared for by the crew.  _ His fiancée? _ Somehow, he doesn’t believe it. Or at least not that Rose would pick a guy like this-- good looking, sure,  _ Aristocratic, _ as his mother used to say, but older than her and reminiscent of an arrogant penguin in his dinner tux, and wearing too much cologne. But maybe he’s biased. “Look at me, you filth,” The man says, shaking him by the cuffs of his shirt.

“Cal,” A small voice comes from a few feet away.

“What do you think you were doing? What gave you the idea--”

“Cal,  _ stop!” _ Rose insists, rising from her seat and stopping at the man-- Cal’s side. “It was an accident.”

“A-- An accident?” Her fiancé stammers, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“It  _ was,” _ Rose says with a smile. “Stupid really. I was leaning over and I slipped.” She pauses, glancing briefly to Jack, who feels almost as confused as Rose’s fiancé must.  _ She can’t think they’ll believe that, can she? _ He wonders. Who just leaned over a ship’s railing? “I was leaning  _ far _ over to see the ah-- ah…” Rose acts confused for several moments more, spinning her fingers with the word misplaced in her head-- or at least, putting on a show of being foolish, long enough that it becomes awkward.

“Propellers?” Cal interjects, looking a little annoyed at this point.

“Propellers,” Rose nods, not breaking in her story for hardly a moment, “And I slipped! And I would’ve gone overboard, but Mister Dawson here saved me, and almost went over himself,”

_ I was wrong, _ Jack realizes, watching Rose spin her tale so effortlessly you’d think it was the truth.  _ She’s smarter than they all think. Smart enough to know when to play dumb. _

It’s as if all is forgiven at once. “She wanted to-- she wanted to see the propellers,” Cal laughs. It’s plain that this guy doesn’t know Rose was trying to kill herself, but he can’t help but wonder how? If he really cared for her, wouldn’t he notice that she was upset?  _ Unless she was hiding it from him, _ the thought echoes through his mind, turning his blood cold.  _ Unless he’s the reason she was on the railing. _

“Like I said, women and machinery do not mix,” Another stuffed-shirt first class man says, this one with an English accent, graying hair and a moustache.

“Was that the way of it?” The Master at Arms asks, his stare hard. Jack looks to Rose.  _ Please,  _ She mouths, looking almost as terrified as she did on that railing. He’s had his share of bad experiences with the upper class, but maybe she’s not just out for herself like all the others, not caring who she steps on. If she were, she wouldn’t care about him being arrested. Besides, what good would it do, revealing a truth she obviously doesn’t want widely known?

“Yeah,” Jack answers after a beat. “Yeah, that was pretty much it.”

“Well, the boy’s a hero, then,” The English man smiles. “Good for you, son. Well done. So, it’s all well, and back to our brandy, eh?”  _ You done yet? _ Jack wonders as the Master At Arms uncuffs him, taking a little bit longer than it ought to. He’d been all too quick to get him into cuffs in the first place. Jack tosses an annoyed look in his direction when he’s finally let go, and the Master at arms thumps him on the shoulder.

“Look at you,” He hears Rose’s fiancé say as he goes back to the bench and pulls on his wool coat. “You must be freezing! Let’s get you inside,” Cal says, already walking away.

“Ah, perhaps a little something for the boy,” The other man says, nodding in his direction. Cal pauses, Rose at his side.

“Of course,” Rose’s fiancé nods, turning to a dour faced man that had arrived with him. “Ah, Mister Lovejoy, I think a twenty should do it.”

“Is that the going rate for saving the woman you love?” Rose asks, indignant. Jack feels himself smiling a little-- he likes her attitude, he can’t help it. 

“Rose is displeased,” Cal hums, turning back to her and looking particularly pleased with himself.  _ I don’t think I like where this is going.  _ “What to do? I know.” Just then, Cal turns to Jack, and it might just be him, but he doesn’t like the glint in his eye. He’s seen it on other upper class folks before, the slimy bastards. “Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow evening. To regale our group with your heroic tale.” He sounds polite enough, but Jack doesn’t like it. He doesn’t trust Cal. He can see them both snickering a little. 

He looks back at Rose once.  _ You’d as like have angels fly out of your arse as get next to the likes of her.  _ When would he ever get another chance like this? To talk to Rose, and get to know her? And a first class dinner, no less. It has to be better than the food they get in steerage.  _ Maybe she’ll even let me draw her. _ “Sure. Count me in.” He says, for better or worse. 

“Good. It’s settled, then.” Cal nods, and turns away. Rose is still watching him from between their shoulders, her gaze pulling at his stomach. Jack swallows. Then she turns, Cal’s arm around her waist, and the three of them disappear around the corner on their way back to First Class. It’s the last he sees of Rose that night.

Jack whistles to catch the Valet’s attention just before he passes out of sight. “Can I uh, bum a smoke?” He asks, nodding at the enameled cigarette case in the man’s hand. The valet offers it to him.  _ Lovejoy, _ Jack thinks his name is. Jack reaches into the case and takes two, leaving one behind his ear and another in his mouth. They’re good cigarettes, he notes, just by the paper. Jack was used to rolling his own, but in every once in a while in Paris he’d have an occasion for the nicer ones-- usually because Laure lifted a pack from the drugstore and was feeling generous.

Lovejoy snaps the case shut. “You’ll want to tie those,” He remarks, looking down at Jack’s shoes-- still untied from when he’d taken them off in threat of jumping in after Rose. Jack bounces on the balls of his feet once, hoping he doesn’t give anything away. Jack looks back at him. “It’s interesting. The young lady slipped so suddenly, yet you still had time to remove your jacket  _ and _ your shoes.” Lovejoy smirks, but says nothing more. Jack doesn’t think he’ll say anything-- Lovejoy doesn’t strike him as the sort to care.  _ He’s sharp, though, _ Jack thinks.  _ I’ll have to watch out for him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two as promised-- I warn you, it may be a bit before I get the next chapter out. The next two chapters are ones that I have to entirely write before I can post them. There should be four more chapters set during Titanic before I can start posting what I've already posted for events set after. One of them is very short, I promise.


End file.
